


Weak

by EmmyJay



Category: The Dark Crystal (1982), The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance (TV)
Genre: Gen, Mentioned Child Harm, Parenthood, skekMal Contemplates A Baby For 5 Minutes, skekTif - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:35:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26165725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmmyJay/pseuds/EmmyJay
Summary: The Hunter muses on the nature of weak things.(One particular weak thing, to be precise.)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	Weak

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SaraWolffuchs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaraWolffuchs/gifts).



> skekTif created by and belonging to [SaraWolffuchs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaraWolffuchs). All I did was sit here and sob about babies.

It never stopped amazing him how tiny she was, how _new_. Even after everything she had been through already in her short life, there was a feeling about her that this was something pure, yet to be ruined by the world. It made skekMal thoughtful—a state he was not used to occupying, better accustomed to acting on instinct. Sitting and thinking of things other than the Hunt was for his skinny-armed brethren at the Castle; skekMal was above such wistful fancies, needing only to know **what** without pondering the _why_.

Yet here he was: _thinking_ , gazing down at the sleeping creature cradled in his hands, so small she barely filled the space. Her chest rose and fell with her deep breaths, and he stroked a thumb through the soft plumage on her front—so soft, downy, like a Z'nidbird chick. Softer than himself, or any of his brethren, even when they were young and Thra was still new.

(New like skekTif herself, pure, untouched, unruined—)

 _Weak_. That was the word for it, skekMal knew—something so pure could only remain that way if it was too weak to withstand what came with living. It should have made him angry, to look at her helplessness; should have earned his scorn, to hold something so unable to defend itself, helpless to stop it if something stronger decided to snuff out her tiny life.

 _‘It could be me,'_ the thought came quietly. _'I could do it now. I could close my fists, and she would shatter like burnt kindling.'_ It was what she deserved, what all things small and weak deserved: to be crushed by something bigger, stronger, greater—

It was only when skekTif wriggled in his grasp that skekMal realised he had begun squeezing her, fingers curling with his thoughts. He opened his claws just as she opened her eyes, blinking them up at him in the confusion of retreating sleep.

When she focused on him, however, her expression brightened in a way that made his heart _wrench_ , a feeling made worse by the fact that it was not unpleasant. She cooed and reached for him, tiny hands batting at the end of his beak; skekMal let out a soft huff of a laugh and let her, as he would let no other, nosing at her tiny claws.

"Go back to sleep, Fishcake," he murmured. "You're safe; I've got you."


End file.
